Girl in the Pink Dress
by perilousgard
Summary: Pansy and Draco meet as children. A series of moments as their relationship progresses. D/P, duh.


**Girl In The Pink Dress**

**By Lily**

There was a knock on the door to the study, soft and timid. Brows lowering in annoyance, Narcissa Malfoy looked up from her reading and stared coldly at the door. "Yes?" she called.

"Visitors, my mistress," came the muffled voice of Dobby from behind the door. "A Mrs. Parkinson and her daughter are here to see you?"

Narcissa smiled slowly, looking down at the book that she had open on her desk. "Yes, of course. Let them in, Dobby." She had been looking forward to this visit for quite some time.

The double doors swung open, admitting a tall, richly dressed witch with long, dark hair, tugging on the arm of a small girl wearing a frilly pink dress and large bows in her hair. Narcissa felt the corner of her mouth curl as she observed Mrs. Parkinson's attire, which was clearly over the top. The woman was wearing not just one, but _two _diamond necklaces, and on her fingers glinted several bejeweled rings. It wasn't hard for Narcissa to see that Mrs. Parkinson had chosen the most expensive things she owned and thrown them all together.

Mrs. Parkinson's cheeks flushed as she noticed Narcissa observing her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy," she greeted politely, inclining her head a little. "Your home is so lovely; I'm glad I was able to make it here at last."

Narcissa rose and took Mrs. Parkinson's hand in her cold one. "Glad to meet you. Please, call me Narcissa. Let's cut the small talk, shall we? I assume your husband told you why Lucius and I invited you here."

"Oh yes." Mrs. Parkinson's eyes sparkled, and she tightened her grip on the little girl's arm. "I admit that at first I didn't think it a very good proposition…"

"Why is that?" Narcissa snapped, defences automatically rising. "Is my son not as good a choice as any? I doubt you'll find anyone better." _Not when your daughter looks like that, _she added silently, looking at the child for the first time. Pansy Parkinson had a pug's nose and a smattering of freckles, something Narcissa dearly hoped she would outgrow.

Mrs. Parkinson was quick to correct herself. "Oh, no, it's not that I don't think—Draco"—she stumbled, only barely recalling the name—"would make a good match for my daughter. It's just that I—"

"This is a marvelous opportunity for you, Eleanor," interrupted Narcissa, emphatically informal. "After this contract is drawn up, your family will be equal to ours. I'm sure you can't argue with the benefits? Lucius is quite well known at the Ministry; very influential…"

"Of course," Eleanor Parkinson said quickly, and little Pansy gave a tiny cry as her mother's hand tightened painfully on the girl's wrist. "I…only want what's best for my girl."

"We feel the same way, Mrs. Parkinson," replied Narcissa coldly, folding her elegant hands together in front of her. In the dark room, her profile lit by the gently roaring fire, she looked like an angelic statue. "That is why we proposed this idea. May I look at the child?"

Mrs. Parkinson gently pushed Pansy forward, and the little girl stared unflinchingly into Narcissa Malfoy's eyes as they met hers. Narcissa knelt on the fine carpet and took Pansy's face in her hands. "It's a pity she's ugly," she murmured under her breath, so that Mrs. Parkinson did not hear her. Louder, she addressed Pansy: "Have you managed any magic yet?"

"Only by accident," Pansy replied. "I'm not allowed to have a wand yet."

"Quite right. But you'll have one soon enough, when you're off to Hogwarts in another seven years. It seems quite a long time, doesn't it?"

Pansy nodded glumly.

"Are you looking forward to learning magic with all the other students?"

The child's head bobbed enthusiastically.

"What about the Muggle-borns? Do you want them learning with you?"

Pansy's face screwed up in thought. After a moment, she answered, "Daddy says Miggle-borns aren't apposed to learn magic. He thinks it's bad."

Narcissa smiled. "Good girl. Dobby!"

The house-elf, who had been standing silently at the door, jumped. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Take Miss Pansy to Draco's rooms."

"Yes, of course, madam!" Dobby leads a confused Pansy out of the room. When the door shuts again, Narcissa turns to Mrs. Parkinson.

"May I draw your attention to this tapestry, Eleanor?"

***

Pansy's first thought when she laid her eyes on Draco Malfoy was, _Delicate. _

Her second thought was _Spoiled prince. _At four years old, Draco had his own set of chambers, more spacious and extravagantly decorated than Pansy's, and every space seemed to be stuffed with playthings. Draco was sitting on a pillow, chewing on candy, when Dobby escorted her in.

Draco looked up with mild interest, his grey eyes just as cool as his mother's. "Who are you?" he asked, nose wrinkling.

"Pansy Parkinson," she replied, holding out the edges of her dress and curtseying. "My mummy says we're going to get married someday."

"As if I'd marry anyone with a face like that!" Draco hooted. Pansy's eyes burned; she knew she wasn't supposed to cry in front of him, but she couldn't help it.

"Hey, don't be such a baby!" Draco exclaimed, as Pansy sniffled into her hand. "C'mon, stop that. It's embarrassing."

When the last of Pansy's little sobs died down, she came and sat across from her new playmate. "What are you eating?"

"Chocolate Frogs," he replied, tossing her one. "Daddy's just been to Di'gon Alley, and he always brings me back lots of candy."

"Oh," Pansy said. "I've never had these. Mummy says candy rots your teeth."

Draco scoffed and started tearing the wrapper off another Frog.

Pansy did the same, and cried out when the frog jumped and landed in her hair. She shrieked, clawing at it, and Draco rolled around laughing.

"You have to catch them as soon as you unwrap them!" he exclaimed, as Pansy grappled with the frog, managing to break off all its legs before she finally got a good grip on it. Her mother didn't really like her eating chocolate, she thought as she licked her fingers. But it was very good.

"What's this thing inside?" she asks, noticing the card still left in the wrapper.

"Wishard card," Draco replied through a mouthful of chocolate. "They're in all of 'em. Famous people on 'em."

Pansy flipped her card over and saw an old, old man with a long, snowy white beard. The man's name was long and she couldn't pronounce it. She showed it to Draco.

"Oh, he's in there all the time. Daddy says he's the boss of Hogwarts, where I'm going to go to school. Daddy really doesn't like him at all, says he's a traitor to the blood."

Pansy looked at the man's smiling face; he was waving at her. She couldn't see why Lucius Malfoy would hate this man when he seemed so kind.

***

"You're related to the Blacks!" Mrs. Parkinson exclaimed, staring up at the immense tapestry hanging in the hallway.

"Yes," murmured Narcissa, her eyes on the branch of the tree that named her and her two sisters. She placed her finger on the name _Bellatrix. _"I trust you are familiar with the name Bellatrix Lestrange, Eleanor?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Parkinson. "She's a De—"

"Death Eater, like my husband," Narcissa finished, and Mrs. Parkinson's mouth snapped shut. "I don't believe anyone in your family is a known supporter of You-Know-Who?"

"Well," said Mrs. Parkinson, wringing her hands, "I think Dean—my husband, you know—I think his brother was, but…but You-Know-Who's gone now, so it's really not any good anymore, being a Death Eater, is it?"

"Lucius says You-Know-Who is not dead," Narcissa said. "He is in hiding…too weak to do much more than exist…"

Mrs. Parkinson's eyes grew wide.

"He will be back," Narcissa predicted. "And Lucius will not be able to resist his call. Even if the Mark on his arm is gone, he will be eternally bound to Lord Voldemort." Her eyes swiveled to meet Mrs. Parkinson's. "He has plans for our son, Eleanor. For my Draco. He wants him to follow in his father's footsteps…"

Mrs. Parkinson was quite at a loss for words.

"We must have them married once they are of age. Maybe even before they graduate. It is my hope that Pansy will keep Draco from harm, Eleanor."

"What would you have Pansy do?" asked Mrs. Parkinson.

"Love him."

***

Pansy chased Draco down the dark hallway, giggling uncontrollably. Her pink dress was smeared with the remnants of the chocolate from her fingers, and one of the ribbons had come loose from her hair. Her mother would probably spank her for ruining the dress.

"Where are we going?" she called to the blonde head in front of her, as they ran down the portrait-lined hallway. Generations of Malfoys stared down at them, a few scolding: "Naughty, naughty children. Don't be so reckless!" "You, little girl, are a mess." "Draco, your mummy will not be pleased with you."

"I want to show you something," Draco replied. "Daddy got it for me; it's the best in the world."

"_What _is?" Pansy asked, but he only took her arm and yanked her along again, ignoring the portraits. At the end of the hallway, Draco pushed on a tall, black door, and Pansy entered a trophy room.

She stared in wonder at the gold and silver plaques lining the walls, which (though she did not know it) were one of the Malfoys' pride and joy. She couldn't reach any of the cups or trophies, so she contented herself with trying to read them. Some of them were adorned with broomsticks.

"Daddy was really good at Quidditch when he went to Hogwarts. And that stuff's Mum's, her awards for doing stuff for the school. She says she was pre—pre—thingy and that I'm going to be one, too." He paused, then looked at Pansy. "You know about Quidditch?" Pansy shook her head. Draco was agog. "What kind of family doesn't teach you about Quidditch? Well, Daddy says I'm natural on a broom, says I'll be on my House team for sure. He's got me a broomstick for the day I turn five. How old are you?"

"Four," Pansy said promptly.

"Four and a half," boasted Draco, puffing his chest out a little. "I'm mostly five already."

Pansy paid little attention as Draco rambled on about the plaques and the trophies and Quidditch, her eye wandering instead to an armoire in the corner. She was standing directly in front of it before Draco realized she wasn't listening to him anymore.

"Hey! Don't go over there."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It's just what Daddy always yells at me when I come over here."

Pansy smirked. "Are you scared of him?"

"'Course not. Why would I be scared of my own dad?"

"You _are _scared."

The blonde boy pouted, his anger getting the best of him. Sucking up a great lungful of air, he screeched, "_Dobby!"_

***

"Was your marriage arranged?" Mrs. Parkinson asked later, as she and Narcissa sat drinking tea.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Mine was," Mrs. Parkinson supplied, avoiding the question.

Narcissa frowned slightly, momentarily silent, then set down her cup. "It was arranged," she said, "from birth. I first met him during our school years, since we lived rather far apart, and I despised him. Now that I think back on it, it was probably because we were too similar; we both loved abusing power. We were both prefects, and then we were Head Boy and Girl. We didn't court until after school, though we spent a lot of time together. I hated him, and yet I was drawn to him…"

She paused, sipping at her tea.

"We were married the summer after our seventh years, but I wasn't blessed with my son until almost ten years later."

Mrs. Parkinson absently fingered the handle on her teacup. After a long silence, she asked, "Did you…did you ever love him?"

For a moment, she thought she had gone too far, because Narcissa's brows lowered in anger and she clenched her hand tightly on the tabletop. Then the storm seemed to pass, and she sipped her tea again.

"Once."

***

Pansy squealed and wrapped her arms around Draco's waist the moment her feet left the ground. In front of her, Draco laughed, soaring higher on the broom that Dobby had gotten down from the armoire. _So this is where Daddy was hiding it, _Draco thought. It had been simpler than he expected to weasel Dobby into giving him the broom. He'd only said that Daddy wanted him to show it to Pansy—his _finance-ay, _he had added, stumbling over the word he'd heard his mother use.

Draco was a natural flier, and though the broom only went about five feet off the ground, he felt brave and skilled riding it. Of course, he was slightly afraid, as well; he hoped Pansy wouldn't feel his heart thumping as she clung to him.

Things only took a turn for the worse when he tried to turn; he swerved too quickly, and overbalanced himself. He screamed when he felt Pansy let go of him in her shock, and he plummeted to the ground. It didn't really hurt all that much; he got a bit of dirt on his knee and all over his hands, and his bottom was a little sore. Still, he began to bawl as though he'd been stabbed, and he sobbed until his mother came running, scooping him up and rocking him slowly.

"Oh, my baby, my precious boy! What happened? Tell Mummy what happened."

And Draco pointed a trembling finger to the sky. "S-she made me g-get on my b-b-broom, Mummy, and s-she made me fall off!"

Narcissa looked up and noticed Pansy still hovering on Draco's broom, still wearing the same shocked expression as when Draco had first fallen. Narcissa glared first at Pansy and then at Pansy's mother, who was standing a few feet away, stricken.

That was when Pansy first began to hate Draco Malfoy.


End file.
